The bed creaks as I sit on the edge of the mattress, scrubbing a hand across my forehead. To say today has been stressful is the understatement of the fucking year.

  My bag is discarded at Hermes’s feet, and it suddenly feels silly that I chose to bring anything at all. As if the realm of literal gods wouldn’t have a toothbrush for me to use.

  His chest heaves as he lets out a long sigh, his hand coming up to wrap around my arm. “Will you just enjoy the moment?” he asks in a breathy voice, tugging my arm down toward the bed. “Stop thinking so much and relax.”

  “Relax?” My eyebrows shoot up at the ridiculousness of the word. “How am I supposed to relax when—”

  “Ssh” he shushes me, dragging me down onto the bed.

  My back hits the mattress with a soft thud, an unnatural warmth pressing into me. The twitching under my shoulder confirms that I’ve managed to pin a wing under my weight.

  “Oh shit,” I start, curling myself upward, careful not to put any weight on my elbows. “Sorry, that probably hurts.”

  “Alira,” he chuckles out, not letting go of his grip on my arm. He pulls me down again, this time wrapping his other arm over my belly. He takes another deep breath, his chest pressing against me as he rolls onto his side. “Just relax.”

  I feel myself tense as his other wing folds over me, smothering my face with feathers that tickle my nose. “This isn’t exactly comfortable.” Sniffling, I hold back a sneeze as a feather invades my nostril’s personal bubble.

  He exhales a soft little laugh that fans across my cheek. “Stop being so difficult.”

  Turning my head to look at him, he meets my gaze with something like awe or admiration. Something I haven’t seen directed at me in a long time.

  I immediately stop being so difficult.

  Wrapping his arm around my back, he pulls me closer as I roll onto my side. His leg folds over mine as his wings close in tighter, enclosing me in warmth from all directions.

  “What are you doing?” I whisper against his lips as his wings dampen the light around us.

  His eyes slip closed as his grip on me tightens. “Appreciating the moment.”

  His head tilts forward until his forehead presses against mine. I unpin my arm from between us and rest my hand on his bicep, then let my own eyes shut.

  Inside the little cocoon of his wings, it’s easy to pretend that nothing is real. That we’re not in Olympus and my very existence isn’t disrupting some diving political system. It’s just him and me and a pile of feathers.

  His heart pounds against mine, despite the rigidness in his shoulders. We lay in silence for what feels like hours and seconds all at the same time before I finally open my eyes again.

  He’s already watching me with a gentle smile.

  My stomach plummets down to my toes. “You don’t have to leave already, do you?”

  A silent exhale of a laugh breaks open against my nose. “No,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “Not right now.”

  “Then, what is it?”

  My breath catches somewhere deep in my chest as he leans in, his hand resting on my hip.

  I press my eyes shut again as his lips find mine in a kiss that feels like a promise he knows he can’t keep.

  He smiles against my lips, his fingers pressing into my hip bone. “We made it.”

  My hand moves from his shoulder to the back of his neck, where my fingers brush against the softest curls this cruel little world has to offer.

  “We made it.”

  His mouth finds mine again, his lips pressing hungrily into mine. My fingers twist in those silky curls as I press myself closer, deepening the kiss.

  His hand fists in my shirt as his tongue swipes across mine, and he exhales a groan that sounds almost painful. His other arm, still pinned under me, wraps around my back and pulls my chest closer against his, his leg hooking behind my knees until I’m completely entwined in his embrace.

  My head tilts back as he brings his hand up to the back of my neck, his lips leaving my mouth to trail kisses down my jaw.

  The jagged breaths punching out of me do little to conceal exactly what he’s doing to me, and my teeth grind painfully when his lips find the pulse point under my chin.

  Boom!

  The silence of the room around us is shattered as the sound of heavy footsteps echoes through our little feather cocoon.

  Hermes’s wings tighten around me as his eyes go wide at the sound of wood scraping against wood. Then loud huff as the intruder sits down somewhere next to the bed.

  “Oh, don’t stop on my account,” comes a loud, heavily slurred voice.

  I have just enough time to mouth What? Before Hermes jams his eyes shut as his brows draw inward, tilting his head forward until his forehead presses into my chin.

  “Dionysus!” He shouts, his voice rumbling through my chest. “Get out.”

  “And miss all this? I’m a huge advocate for PDA. Please, don’t feel the need to stop whatever it is you two were up to.”

  “Dude,” Hermes continues, his voice pulled tight, “seriously. Get out.”

  Dionysus gasps, and I can feel the bed dip as he…puts his feet up? What in the fucking god audacity is going on?

  “Do you have someone naked under all those feathers? I expected more from you and your little mortal.”

  Hermes lets out a long sigh, his head tipping back to stare at the wall like he’s in physical pain. “What do you want?” he asks in a resigned tone.

  He finally meets my eyes again and his mouth tugs into an apologetic smile.

  “I was actually here to make sure you’re coming to the festival today.”

  Confusion paints across Hermes’s face. “What festival?”

  “Artemis,” Dionysus says in a matter-of-fact tone, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “The stag?”

  “Shit,” Hermes breathes out. “I forgot about that.”

  “What?” I whisper, searching his eyes for any sort of hint as to what the fuck is going on.

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  “It’s stupid,” he responds, but he unhooks his leg from mine and kicks his foot out, connecting hard with what I’m assuming is Dionysus’s leg.

  “Ow!” The weight of his feet lifts immediately as the chair scrapes backward. “How rude.” I hear him stand and brush himself off. Probably dramatically, if his voice is any indication of his mannerisms. “If that’s how you’re going to be, then I’ll go. But you’re coming to the party.”

  “Not likely,” Hermes responds in an annoying sing-song voice.

  “Yes likely,” Dionysus responds in the same tone. “Hera will fucking lose it if we’re not all there.”

  “She can go fucking lose it up Zeus’s puckered asshole.”

  My eyes go wide at the obscenities. Hermes bares his teeth in a grimace at my reaction.

  I’ve heard the man cuss a handful of times, and now he’s talking about goddesses shoving attitudes up god’s assholes and my head is swimming with images I’ve never realized I never wanted.

  Dionysus scoffs out a laugh as his hand rattles against the doorknob. “Get dressed, kids,” he says in a far too pleasant voice. “I’ll wait outside in case you get lost.”

  The walls rattle when he slams the door shut.

  Hermes immediately lets out a long sigh as his wings unwrap, exposing me to the coldness of the air around us. “I am so sorry about that,” he says with a poorly hidden smile.

  “What the fuck was that?” I sit up and leap off the bed, feeling way too exposed.

  “Dionysus,” he responds simply. “Charming, isn’t he?”

  “Not exactly the word I’d use.” I spot a curtain on the wall opposite the bed and make my way over. “What’s back here?”

  He tucks his wings as he sits up on his elbows. “Looks like Hestia had the foresight to set you up a changing station.” Nervousness bubbles in my belly at the sly smile on his lips.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” I try to force out a laugh, but it comes out as more of a choked groan as I turn back to the curtain and pull it aside.

  Inside, there’s a line of shelves housing sandals almost as ridiculous as Hermes’s winged shoes. A gold pole stretches across the far side of the small closet, displaying at least thirty dresses of varying color and shape, from strappy and white to elegant and teal.

  A little wooden box sits on one of the shelves, a delicate little carving of Hermes’s Caduceus decorating the top.

  Taking a step toward it, I reach out and run my fingers over the intricately carved lid. Something in me stirs, like my body recognizes the box. Obviously, I’ve never seen it before, but the nostalgic feeling is overwhelming.

  I tug the top open, the hinges barely creaking as it lifts.

  My eyes slip shut when I see what’s inside. This is honestly a little cruel. A little heart breaking.

  I pluck the feather from the bottom of the chest, holding it up to watch the light catch on the barbs. It shifts between gold and gray in the sunlight spilling through the open window above his bed.

  Turning around, I find Hermes standing behind me, all the mischief gone from his lips. I hold the feather out for him to see, and his cheeks dimple as his smile cracks open.

  “Did you—”

  He cuts me off with a breathy laugh. “You dove headfirst into a dumpster for it. I figured it was pretty important to you.”

  My eyes sting with tears that don’t belong as a heavy weight settles in my chest. “I thought you were gone,” I choke out, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay.

  “I know,” he responds quietly, closing the space between us. “Never again.” His arms wrap around me and tilts his head to press a kiss to my forehead. “Not like that.”

  Pulling out his grasp, I swipe the back of my hand over my eyes. “Well, thanks for making me fucking cry on my first day in Olympus,” I laugh out, sniffling as I turn back to the dresses.

  He sighs as he turns to look around the closet. “If tonight goes the way I expect it will, there’s probably plenty more of that to come.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, curling my lip. “You mean the festival Dionysus was talking about?”

  “Precisely,” he drags out, pulling a dress from the lineup and holding it out to me. “The Festival of the Stag is not for the weak of heart.”

  “What do you mean?” Taking the dress from him, I hold it up to myself. It looks like it’s around my size, but holy shit there’s hardly enough fabric to call it a dress. The sleeves are double straps, hardly thickening enough to cover anything in the breast area. A slim silver belt separates the bodice from the skirt, which splits over the crotch in a double way to high slit. Puckering my lips, I return it to the closet rod.

  Hermes watches me with a raised brow and an amused smirk. “Artemis forces the festival every year to celebrate the time she turned Actaeon into a stag after he caught her bathing.”

  “What?”

  He holds another dress out to me, like telling me his sister turned a man into a deer isn’t actually insane. “Yeah,” he continues through a grimace. “He was then consumed by his own dogs.” He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. “Moral of the story is don’t look at naked goddesses unless you want to be turned into a yearly celebration.”

  “Oh my god?” The frown on my face must be hilarious because he chuckles as he returns the dress to the pole. “That’s horrible.”

  “That’s not even the worst part.” He grabs a white dress from the rack, this one much more modest than the last two. “The whole festival, the men have to stay silent.” I take the dress from him and hold it up to myself. “No speaking unless spoken to, the whole ordeal.”

  “Oh no,” I respond with a sarcastic drawl. “That must be so awful for you.”

  He rolls his eyes at me, his lips pulling into a scowl. “Why don’t you get dressed, then you can see just how awful it is for yourself.”

  “In this?” My voice comes out as little more than a squeak as I look down at the dress. It looks like some kind of vulgar wedding dress. Thin white fabric stretches from the shoulders down to the little gold belt, the front and back both decorated with gold chains connecting the fabric across the chest and back. The skirt splits the same way as the first dress, two twin slits stretching up to what has to be the hip bone area.

  “Yes.” He raises a skeptical eyebrow at me. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “It’s—” I gesture wildly at all of it— “barely there.”

  A scoff pushes out of him as he turns around to step out of the closet, pulling the curtain shut behind him. “Welcome to Olympus.”

  Making sure the curtain is completely closed, I hang the dress awkwardly on one of the shelves. This is ridiculous. Borderline torture.

  I haven’t gotten naked in the same room as a man in, like, three years and my stomach still twists like it did the first time. It’s not like he’s watching me undress. I’m alone in the closet area, but every brush of clothes against my skin feels like I’m spilling my deepest, darkest secrets.

  My jeans clack against the floor when I undo my belt, and the sound echoes off the walls in the highest form of betrayal. My heart is pounding so hard I’m surprised my ribs haven’t cracked.

  The dress stares at me like it’s trying to kill me. It still might.

  I’m not even sure how I’m supposed to wear a bra with this thing. It’s almost completely open on the sides, and the deep v on the front and back would absolutely expose all the bra straps.

  Not letting myself overthink it any more than I already have, I unclasp my bra and let it fall to the ground. I tuck it under my jeans just in case.

  The dress slides easily over my head, and the little chains jingle as my arms slide through the straps.

  Wow. This thing leaves almost nothing to the imagination. The fabric is barely thick enough to conceal the color of my underwear, ensuring everyone can tell just how chilly I am.

  Delightful.

  Not the worst thing ever but definitely embarrassing. The worst comes when I turn to open the curtain and realize my blue Fruit of the Loom underwear is on full display. If I don’t move at all, they’re perfectly concealed. The slightest shift of my hips exposes the fabric across my hips.

  This is bullshit, honestly. I might as well parade myself around naked with how little fabric I’m allowed to wear. If this is what Hestia, someone who was alive before Dionysus, who is presumable around the same age as Hermes, picked out for me, what do the other goddesses wear? This is probably modest to them. How do they wear underwear? Do they just let everything air out all day every day?

  My eyes press shut as even more unsettling images flash through my mind.

  “Hey, Hermes,” I call out, already regretting the question brewing on my tongue.

  “Yeah,” he responds as his sandal slaps against the floor.

  “Hey, uh—” Oh god, how do I ask this? Rip the Band-Aid off, right? “Uh, what is the… underwear situation around here?”

  His silence that follows makes the lump in my throat triple in size.

  When he finally speaks, his voice is closer, like he’s leaning on the wall next to the curtain. I want to curl up in a ball and die.

  “The underwear situation?” he asks, his voice dripping with something that makes my stomach clench.

  “Like,” I continue, chewing on my bottom lip, “how am I supposed to wear underwear with this thing?”

  “You’re…not?” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

  Great. Fabulous. There’s nothing like a skimpy dress and a lack of undergarments to make a girl feel completely objectified.

  I pull my underwear down and pause as I’m stepping out of them. “Wait. Do you wear underwear?”

  Another beat of silence as I hide my underwear in the pile of discarded clothes on the floor.

  “Why would I?”

  “Dude!” My eyes go wide as I try my absolute hardest to keep any and all images out of my head. “What the hell?”

  “What?” he laughs out, and I peek my head out of the curtain to glare at him. The tips of his ears are red as he scrubs a hand over his mouth. “I’m the god of movement, should I add chafing to the thousand things I have to deal with already?”

  I pull the curtain closed again and turn toward the wall of sandals. “You let me look at your pasty thighs and share my popcorn with you while you were just—” A shiver runs down my spine. “I did not need that information.”

  “You’re the one that asked!”

  “Add that to the list of my many regrets.” I puff out my cheeks as I study the sandals. They’re all almost identical. The main difference is the number of jewels and length of the straps. I go for a nice medium, minimally bejeweled, stretching about halfway up my calves.

  Fully dressed and feeling like some kind of ancient prostitute, I pull the curtain aside and step out into Hermes’s room.